


Motherhood

by KalendraAshtar



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-31 01:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6450304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KalendraAshtar/pseuds/KalendraAshtar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short tales about Motherhood from Jamie, Brianna and Jenny's voices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Motherhood

**_Jamie_ **

It was Hogmanay. I think I was about five years old ‘cause Willie was still alive.

In Lallybroch we always celebrated Hogmanay with a big gathering, all tenants would come and greet us and the house would be full with people, laughter and dancing.

I remember my parents loved to host such events, mother would sing and dad would tell stories and jokes that would last all night.

Of all the traditions in the house _first-footing_ was always the most important. The folk say that if a tall, handsome and dark-haired man is first to cross the threshold, then a good omen for the New Year is guaranteed; but a red-haired man is the worst of signs, reminiscent of the Norseman that would come for pillage and rape.  Every year in our home our father, Brian _Dubh,_ was first to go through the door, carrying a pot of salt, our luck always protected.

That year our house was crawling with people and I remember being verra bored. I had to stay put, to appear good-mannered, to eat with a fork instead of my hand and had instructions not to get my clothes dirty. To me this set of rules meant I was not to have any fun at all.

Jenny had been teasing me about how Willie was a much better horseman than myself. And so I escaped through a window that night, while everyone was drinking and dancing, and went to the stables to practice my skills with the horses.

I got distracted with the wee beasties and the hours passed. Eventually my belly began to growl in hunger and I decided to head home.

And so it happened that when I stepped inside the house, this time through the main door, I was first-foot. Everyone suddenly went silent, all eyes fixed on me and the bad omen that came with my person. I looked around and saw father standing behind me, ready to enter the house, his dark brow furrowed in concern.

I could see Willie and Jenny in a corner. Willie was frowning but had this little smile on his mouth, like I had just told everyone a wee joke, while Jenny cried “Ye ruined it, Sawny!”

Then I saw mother. She was wearing a blue dress that made her auburn hair glow like a sunset in a darkened sky. She walked to me and put her arms around my back.

“Jamie!” She said, picking me up in her lap. Mother smiled to me, a smile that reached her grey eyes as she caressed my cheek “My dear lad! We’re verra lucky, indeed.”

**_Brianna_ **

When I was seven years old I was involved in an accident with my bike.

I remember that Mama had forbidden me to ride it because there was a problem with the brakes. She wasn’t home often back then; those were the early days of Medical School.

I think probably I was a bit mad at her because I was used to being with her all the time and she was the best playmate. I loved Daddy but he was much more earnest and not as fun to play with. So that day I escaped my nanny and went outside, took the bike to the hill near our house and rode like a comet blazing against a light post.

The neighbours called an ambulance and I was taken to the ER. My head and right leg felt funny and a young doctor did some stitches on my arm. I was too busy dreading the moment my parents would come to complain. I knew I was in big trouble.

I could still see Mama running to me in her scrubs, her dark hair flowing around her in a stormy cloud, her face filled with a fear I had never seen before.

“Bree!” She called me as she took my hand, her amber eyes clouded with worry. “How are you my darling?”

“Mama.” I said. “I’m sorry. You were right this time. I don’t think I should be riding that bike.”

“Bree.” She whispered, stroking my red hair. “My baby. You’re so like your father sometimes.” She had the saddest smile in her face. I couldn’t imagine Frank Randall hurting himself riding a brakeless bike.

“Can you stay with me now?” I asked. “I promise to be brave.”

“Oh Bree…” She whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry my darling girl!” And then started to cry as she hugged me.

I couldn’t understand why she was asking for my forgiveness because I was expecting to get my bum smacked. Only many years later, when I already had Jem, I realized that constant guilt is part of being a mother. Sometimes you feel guilty because you’re busy and can’t be there all the time - because you’re not only a mother, but also a doctor, a wife, a woman. You feel bad because you have other desires in your heart and your child is _everything_ to you, but _not enough_ to you. Sometimes you wished you had more patience to their never-ending questions and regret a harsh word. Other times you regret that you can’t always be there to catch your children when they fall. Inevitably they will fall through life, will be hurt, sometimes even more deeply than a gash in the knee, wounds that take a lot more healing.

But I guess sometimes you just ask for forgiveness because you think you’re not enough and you wish you were.

My mother was always enough for me.

 

**_Jenny_ **

I became a mother to Jamie after our mother died. He doesna remember much of her; but I do. I do remember having her as my mother. Sometimes I close my eyes and can see her still, braiding my hair or teaching me how to do a rabbit pie. I can remember the smell in her hair, her gentle smile and the warmth of her bosom when she held me. I remember looking at her in secret, joyous of the promise of the woman I would become.

When Willie took ill the house, always filled with our loud voices and the sounds of day-to-day work, turned verra quiet. That’s when I knew something was amiss, and that scared me the most. I tried to distract Jamie – I knew he was suffering verra much, for he and Willie were best friends and he missed him deeply. Mother and father dinna allow us in the room with him for the risk of us catching the illness was too great. And so we were condemned to imagining it, a much more horrible affair.

The first few days there was hope, for sometimes people came back from the pox and Willie was as strong and filled with life as a wildcat. Mother would tend to him and wouldna allow anyone else to feed him and clean his fevered brow. Jamie and I would stand outside his room and pretend that he had fallen from his horse again or eaten a bad berry; he would join our childhood adventures in nay time.

But after some time father barely talked and mother had shadows in her eyes. I dinna need to see it to know how bad it was, then. I turned to God and promised him everything I could think of – that I would stop taunting Willie if he recovered, to eat all the carrots in my plate and even to give away my favourite rag doll to Davina Cruickshank, the insufferable hag.

In the middle of one night I heard whispering voices and people walking about. I got up and made sure Jamie, who had crawled to my bed sometime during the night, was still asleep.

I walked to the corridor of the house, stopped in front of our parent’s room and heard it then. To this day I could still remember that sound, almost a roar, for it brought such dread to my heart.  

My father was crying.

I had never heard my father cried before and knew it meant tragedy to our family.

With my heart almost frozen I kept walking and went to Willie’s room. The door was not completely closed and I could see mother sitting in bed, her back turned to me. Her red hair was loose and covered her back like a fiery cloak. Then I realized she was holding Willie, cradling him, and was singing “ _Gille Beag Ò”_ to him.

_Gille beag ò, leanabh lag ò (_ Little boy o, weak baby o) _  
Gille beag ò, nan coarach thu; (_ The little boy of the sheep you are.) _  
Gille beag ò, gille lag ò (_ Little boy o, weak boy o) _  
Gille beag ò nan caorach thu. (_ The little boy of the sheep you are.) _  
  
Gille nan caorachan, gille nan caorachan (_ Boy of the sheep, boy of the sheep) __  
Gille nan caorachan, gaolach thu. (Boy of the sheep, my darling you are.)

I ran away, back to my room. I plunged to my bed, pulled the bedclothes above my head and closed my eyes until I saw little stars forming in the dark. My heart was thumping so hard in my chest and my ears were still filled with my father’s cries. I waited then, knowing that someone would eventually come. I dinna want anyone to come, wished only to lay there forever with Jamie by my side, Willie alive and breathing in his room.

She came. Mother sat by my bed and stroked my hair and through her hand I could feel the waves of grieve that washed her away, as she wept. Eventually I dared to open my eyes and her face was calm once more.

Jamie woke up with a gasp. He looked to us both, his big blue eyes wide open.

“Willie is dead.” He said, his voice a whisper. “He said goodbye and told me to take care of his horsy.”

And he cried then, with the abandon only a child could muster. Mother took Jamie in her arms and began to cradle him.

“He’s gone. And ye dinna let us say goodbye!” I accused, my voice filling with anger. I was angry with mother for keeping us away from Willie; with Jamie for crying in a way I could not; with God for ignoring our bargain. But above all I think I was angry at Willie for dying and leaving us without him.

“Ye are my children, Jenny.” She answered. “I’ll always protect ye and Willie, even when ye dinna understand why.”

“But Willie is gone!” I repeated and finally tears were flooding my eyes. “Ye lost him! Ye canna protect him! You’re nay longer his mother.”

 “Aye, he may be gone,” she said, a single tear streaming down her face as she cradled Jamie and took my head into her lap, “But I will always be his mother”.


End file.
